


Euphoria

by RollerJason



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Character Study, FUCK, Fire, Gen, Phil kills his son lmao, Wilbur Soot Character Study, before the first blowing up of L'manburg, idk how to tag this, most of the people are just mentioned, poggers!, that moment when u finally do ur magnum opus and then die by ur dad's hands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-15 16:42:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29067495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RollerJason/pseuds/RollerJason
Summary: "It's the adrenaline.It’s the adrenaline that courses through his veins, traveling from his fingertips to his toes. The racing beat of his heart when pure power is in his hands.He fiddles with the metal thing, flipping it in his fingers.The dark room makes everything feel far away. It makes him feel like he’s in a void, standing in the middle of nothing. Makes him feel as if he is the only one in existence, unaffected by consequence.He grips it in his palm, the heat in his hand escaping to the cool alloy."Or:Wilbur has always loved fire and when his starts to grow, so does his obsession for his nation. Now that he can't have it, no one can. A character study of Wilbur soot and his relationship with fire.(Notes pls)
Relationships: Wilbur Soot & Phil Watson, Wilbur Soot & Technoblade, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Kudos: 9





	Euphoria

**Author's Note:**

> AYO WHAT IS POPPING?!?!?!
> 
> So, this was very fun to write- fuckin, idk how to talk anymore, whatever-
> 
> A wee bit of a diclaimer, this is a fic about Wilbur's DreamSMP character not him irl (and also not Ghostbur). Also, as per usual, if Will ever states he is not okay with fics being written about him or his characters, this will be taken down.
> 
> That's all, have fun! :D
> 
> ~RollerJason <3

It's the adrenaline.

It’s the adrenaline that courses through his veins, traveling from his fingertips to his toes. The racing beat of his heart when pure power is in his hands.

He fiddles with the metal thing, flipping it in his fingers.

The dark room makes everything feel far away. It makes him feel like he’s in a void, standing in the middle of nothing. Makes him feel as if he is the only one in existence, unaffected by consequence. 

He grips it in his palm, the heat in his hand escaping to the cool alloy.

__________

  
  


Wilbur has always loved fire. 

Whether it was sitting by a warm fireplace, his miss-matched family bundled up around him. Fond memories of the taste of hot chocolate and marshmallows.

Or if it was traversing the Nether to gather materials, the sound of popping lava and the build up of sweat trickling down the side of his face. Even the melted bottoms of his shoes that made the strong scent of burnt rubber last for weeks in his home.

Always, he liked fire. 

He liked the way the light would sting your eyes if you looked too long. And he liked the way his cold hands would warm rapidly while holding a lit match. The sound a wick made, a sort of crackling, when he would light a candle to read or a stick of TNT to mine netherite. 

He especially loved the way fire seemed to have a mind of its own, flickering and swaying erratically, testing the wind and fate. Will it grow and grow and turn tree bark to charcoal or will it smither and go out, leaving only sparks?

The main thing about fire that really did it for Wilbur though, was the power it held.

One small match, struck against a chunk of rock and glowing tiny blaze, could set a fire to a whole valley, burn a whole village to nothing but rubble and ash fallen skies.

__________

  
  


That is probably why he is standing here right now. In a small room in Pogtopia, an aluminium lighter clenched in his fist, the day before they are to go to war with Schlatt and Dream.

It’s funny, he thinks. something lit a fire in his heart (how ironic) a long time ago, and only until recently has it truly made itself known. Growing steadily, heating him up from the inside.

It’s totally the opposite of how he’d imagine fire being. Though, flame can be unpredictable, that’s one of it’s best qualities, so he can’t complain.

He thinks back to when he heard his former friend shout his name in overrule, banishing him to grasp at the boots of mother nature and beg her to be merciful.

To watching his so- Fundy, burn down the walls he helped to create to protect his great nation.

Pacing wildly in the ravine turned shelter, endless possibilities, struggles, deaths, racing through his mind to the point of collapse. Only for them to stay for days after waking up to Tommy with a worried expression.

His eyes wide and deathly still as they pinned Tommy to where he stood, the shockingly soft whisper that echoed through the walls of Pogtopia. The ringing words of ‘Let’s be the bad guys’ tainting their world’s fate.

So here he stands, lighter in hand, adrenaline running as high as heaven.

He feels like he has wings.

He brings his eyes back to the small thing in his hand, holding it in front of him, just far enough to not set himself on fire (maybe close enough to singe the brown felt of his cloak).

He flicks his wrist, popping the magnetic cap open. Brightness fills his senses, making him blink a few times, pupils shrinking to dots.

A single, low heat but big flame, gleams at him. It flutters in the cold draft of the underground room.

Wilbur watches it intently, mesmerised by the soft blue hue at the base that fades to pale yellow, red charring the tip.

Absentmindedly he pulls it closer. It warms his face slowly, nearly becoming unbearable with proximity.

He can practically see the individual sparks that fly off. One lands in his hair, searing it black until a few strands fall like feathers to the floor. He’s hardly bothered, too entrapped in the radiating heat-

“Wilbur!”

As fast as the flame came to life, it is smothered out by the cap as Wilbur snaps it shut and pulls it behind his back, whipping his body around to face the open door.

Tommy stands there, green bandana covering his chin as he tilts his head down to skeptically look to Wilbur. His eyes dart between Wilbur’s own eyes and his blackened hair.

“Jesus, Tommy! You gave me a heart attack.” He scolds annoyedly, “What do you want?”

Lifting his head and drawing down his brows, Tommy replies, “I was just gonna’ come get you to tell the gang the plan one more time before tomorrow. No need to get all snappy.”

Discreetly palming the lighter in his hand and shoving his hands in his pocket, Wilbur walks past Tommy. “Sure, come on.”

__________

  
  


Cheers and applause and general happiness sounds out around him. They’re all gathered at the center of the newly reclaimed L’Manburg. Tubbo is standing tall in apprehensive assertivation at the top of the platform.

He’d make a fairly good President, Wilbur thinks, standing near the side of the crowd. He wasn’t Wilbur’s first choice, but he can’t seem to ever really control Tommy. 

He’s not upset though. It’s not like it really matters all that much anymore.

“I’ll be right back.” He whispers to Niki at his side, not waiting for a response as he turns to trail up and around the small hill to the left of the podium Tubbo speaks from.

He goes unnoticed save for Dream’s heavy gaze on his back. He won’t stop him though, thankfully, wouldn’t want a repeat of last time.

Pushing the boulder aside with some struggle, he walks in. The corridor is small and cramped and he has to bend over to fit but he makes it the whole way, chest rising and falling with his impatient footsteps.

And then he’s in a small room, underground and dark. Almost a void if not for the small rickety table harboring a gas lamp.

Pace unbelievably slow now that he stands in the familiar room, he heads towards the opposite wall. He tries to distract his racing heart from the thing before him by looking around the room he’s been in so many times he really doesn’t need to read the etchings in the walls to know what they say.

_ my l’manburg _

_ My L’manburg _

_ MY L’MANBURG _

He can’t take it anymore and he speeds over to the stone wall, slamming his palms into the harsh rock, pain shocking his wrists.

Mind racing and heart pounding and seared hair falling to cover his face, he breathes heavily, shoulders shaking.

The smallest weight in his pocket is a painstakingly cognizant force.

Mindless whispers, mear breaths of air with lightly threaded form take his thoughts to his tongue.

“I’ve been here so many times…”

“Wil?”

Snapping his head back, Wilbur stares, horrorsticken, at a familiar man with a green and white bucket hat that matches his flowing, olive robes.

Charcoal grey feathered wings arch behind him, primaries brushing the floor.

“Phil...”

“What are you up to?” Phil asks, tone casual, but Wilbur has known him long enough to catch the glowering lying far under the surface. It’s enough to make him sweat.

“Oh, you know,” He rambles, trying to buy himself- what? Time? He has all the time in the world.  _ Damn _ .  _ he’s putting me on edge. _ “Just came here to calm down from all the ruckus out there.” he says, jutting a thumb behind him as he turns to face Phil.

“Right…” Is all he gets in reply.

The threatening lowness to his voice makes Wilbur blather.

“Umm, Yeah, Kind of. See this button- Well, you see I’m happy we’ve won back L’Manburg and all, but-” he pauses, turning on his heel to pace the width of the room, “It’s just that i’ve been thinking a lot lately about, you known, the- the- that it was a special place!”

He points a hand to the wall at a scribbled scratching of words, smile tugging at his cheeks, “There  _ was _ a special place but now it’s gone!-”

“But it’s right here,” Phil interrupts, voice still sickeningly sooth, “You’ve just won it back.”

“...”

“PHIL, I’M ALWAYS SO FUCKING CLOSE!” Wilbur shouts, twirling around to face the far wall again.

The room is silent for a pace, save for the sound of fireworks outside. Vaguely, Wilbur thinks Techno is inciting chaos.

“So you want to just blow it all up?” Phil asks quietly.

“I do. I do, Phil.” Wilbur says, lowering his hands to fall at his sides. “You know, I don’t even know if it still works.”

His hand twitches, fingers flexing out, “I- I could just.. Press it…”

“Phil chuckles light heartedly, “Do you really want to take that risk?”

Wilbur turns around to look him in the eye. Scanning Phil’s slightly fearful but mostly unmitigated, joking expression, Wilbur sees the disbelief struck across his face. He seems so convinced Wilbur won’t do it. Something behind him steals his attention.

“Phil, by any chance, have you ever heard of a traitor, one by the name of Eret?”

Nodding, Phil responds, “Yeah, heard of him.”

Wilbur faces the wall, a wooden button with dark mahogany wires attached to the sides that string into a small hole in the rock, beseeches him. In his peripheral, he sees Phil come to stand at his side. “Well, he had a saying, Phil.”

Phil tilts his head, telling Wilbur to continue.

_ Chekhov's Gun. _

“It was never meant to be.”

Calloused skin hits sanded oak. Wires glow bright red. TNT wicks fizzle.

And then there is a dark wing shielding his body as hot explosion after hot explosion shoots shrapnel at them from every angle.

__________

  
  


“wilbur- WILBUR!” 

Phil’s voice barges into his mind, past the constant ringing.

A hand forcing his head to face forward, breaking him from the hypnotizing scene of a massive crater, ash raining down to blanket everything in a soft grey.

_ If I can’t have this, no one can. _

“WIL!”

Freedom. Adrenaline.  _ Euphoria. _

It’s all he can feel. 

_ My L’manburg. My unfinished symphony, forever unfinished. _

Wil shouts, yells with all the commanding resonance he can muster, words that send Phil’s fallen face to fall further. Words that make his father demand, in vain, the opposite.

__________

  
  


As a blade of shining diamond is soaked in crimson blood, Wil sees his raging fire finally be snuffed out.

**Author's Note:**

> he dead...
> 
> chillllll, anyways-
> 
> Comments, compliments, complaints, and criticisms are always welcomed and encouraged! (Also, if there are any spelling or grammar mistakes please tell me!)
> 
> My socials:  
> Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/roller_jason/  
> Tumblr: https://rollerjason.tumblr.com  
> Twitter: https://twitter.com/RollerJason1
> 
> ~RollerJason <3


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